This theory was elaborated from the late-1950s to the early-1970s, when a Freudian reading of literature was pretty much ala mode in American letters. There was always something of the legacy-monger about him, as follows: Once upon a time, an ambitious non-creative man of letters established himself in the literary firmament with a vast and complicated body of theory, the “anxiety of influence,” a quasi-Freudian concept whereby writers are primarily motivated by a frantic, anxious desire to overcome their elders (no doubt I am grossly oversimplifying a theory of terrifying complexity – I spent about seven minutes with the book in question about fifteen years ago, so I do not know much about it). To be fair about it, I am somewhat prejudiced against Bloom. A few weeks ago I decided to give it a try and found it to be a piece o’ cake, mostly. A couple years ago I found a copy dirt-cheap at some thrift store or another and its fat binding has glowered at me from the shelves since. Given Harold Bloom’s prodigious reputation, I was afraid of the thing, and so avoided it, figuring it to be fraught with lit theory of the densest sort. I dimly remember when this book came out (1998) how big and important and controversial it was supposed to be.
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